


Hello, Sweetspark

by Silver_Centurion



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, Fluids, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Painplay, Shattered Glass, Violence, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Centurion/pseuds/Silver_Centurion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift is in heat and it's slowly becoming unbearable, but Wing offers to take matters into his own hands. Too bad Drift hates him beyond all reason or it might actually be a tempting offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Sweetspark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ruenesca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruenesca/gifts).



> Requested by the lovely ruenesca on tumblr! This what a challenge to write. Turns out that writing a character like SG!Wing was more difficult than I imagined. I welcome critique on this one because it was very difficult for me, and I would appreciate feedback where it may lag or not flow very well. I appreciate it!  
> (This is also unbetaed)
> 
> Please enjoy <3

The floor was cold against his cheek as Wing held him down. A snarl ripped its way out of his throat as Drift gave another heated struggle. Wing had Drift face down, his arms pinned at his sides and his legs flailing uselessly behind him. The pin was strong, but Drift tried to break it none the less. He was pissed—furious even—and he wanted nothing more than to bite the other mechs finial off.

“Oh tsk tsk tsk. Drift what’s gotten into you?” Wing purred into his audial and the sudden tickle of breath made Drifts plating rattle. “You’re usually a decent match for me when we spar and yet you fell so easily. Why is that, hm?”

“Eat rust you glitch,” Drift hissed through clenched denta and gave another jerk in an attempt to free his arms.

“Ah ah no name calling,” Wing chastised and Drift yelled in pain as Wing twisted his arm in an unnatural angle. “You might end up hurting my feelings,” he added with a notable pout in his voice, but Drift knew he still had stat slag eating smirk on his face.

Drift stilled and vented hard. His systems were running hot, and he took a few deep vents to calm himself. He noticed Wings grip relax once he stilled and Drift played with the idea of playing dead. Nothing made Wing angrier than being ignored.

“You know,” the black mech sing songed and pressed his chassis to Drifts back so he could whisper directly into his audial, “I think I know what’s wrong with you. Sluggish, irritable—more than normal at least—and, oh, and this scent.”

Drift felt his spark clench as Wing pressed his nose to the swollen cables on Drifts neck and took a deep inhale. The mech groaned and Drift yelped as Wing suddenly sunk his sharp denta into a particularly tender cable. Energon welled up immediately, and the other mech practically groaned.

Wing gentle lapped at the wound and his voice dripped with excitement as he said, “Oh yes there’s no doubt about it. How cute. You’re in heat~ Oh and by the taste of it you’re in your third solar cycle of it. Hmm so far along and somehow you managed to keep it hidden from me? No wonder you’ve been avoiding me. Here I thought you were just being pissy for no reason other than to make me _mad_.”

Drift clenched his denta as Wing started to twist his arm again. This time he didn’t let up and kept it at that terrible angle. His metal protested, and the joint felt like it was going to pop out of its socket.

“Slaggit, Wing! Knock it off! Unlike you I can control my heat. I don’t want to frag everything that moves,” Drift spat and looked over his shoulder to look the mech in the optics. Purple stared down at him with a fire that Drift recognized as bloodlust. Violence always seemed to get Wings gears turning.

Wing hummed, his optics narrowing into almost nonexistent slits, and Drift exvented sharply as Wing let up just enough pressure to keep his arm from breaking. Then Wing said, “Oh, on the contrary, I ‘can control myself’ just fine, but, unlike you, I don’t try to deny my basic programming.”

Drift went still as Wings free hand traveled down his side and rested on his hip. Wings servos tickled at a seam near his thigh, and Drift cursed as his body reacted immediately. A fan kicked on, and the throbbing between his thighs, which had been ignorable before this point, increased ten-fold.

“I bet you’re desperate by now,” Wing drawled as if he had suddenly grown bored. “Spike neglected, your poor valve hungry and grasping at nothing as I play with your seams. I see your plates twitch. Hmm and I can feel the heat just rolling off you.”

Wings servos traced and circled the sensitive wires under Drifts armor. The sudden gentleness from his sociopathic friend made Drift uneasy.

“You neglect your poor body for no reason other than sheer stubbornness. How _masochistic_ of you,” Wing growled and Drift yelped as Wings sharp servos snapped a wire. The sudden pain made his whole leg twitch, and he renewed his efforts to get out from under Wing.

“Get off me you glitch,” he growled through deep vents. His body still anticipated interface and was pinging him insistently to activate his protocols despite the pain and overall fear of being pinned underneath Wing. His body must be glitched if it thought interfacing with Wing was a good idea.

“Oh you say that, but you don’t mean it,” Wing sing songed and his servos resumed their delicate dance across Drift’s plating. “If I left then your poor frame would be even more desperate. I’m trying to do you a favor, friend. After all what are friends for if not to lend each other a hand hm?”

An insult died on Drifts lips as Wings servos started to tickle at his burning interface panel. Again his systems notified him, and he tried desperately to ignore them. The metal bowed and warped from the heat and pressure of his spike pushing against it and Drifts face burned with embarrassment as he felt a trickle of valve fluid escape the seam. His spike had been pressurized for some time, but now the featherlike touches were making it strain and throb in its housing. His vale wasn’t better off. It clenched and cycled down on nothing like a hungry animal drooling over its dinner.

A soft rattle escaped him as Wing added on the pressure. It was just enough to send him a jolt of bliss and make his valve clench, desperately wanting to be filled. The feeling also came with revulsion. It was just his heat, he told himself. There was no way that he was getting hot and lubricated for _Wing_.

The weight of the other mech on his back suddenly left, and Drift didn’t know whether to be surprised or even angrier. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Wing gave him a wider smile and turned on his heel.

“Sparing time is over. I’ll see you in our berthroom tonight. In the meantime you should clean up a little,” Wing purred and gestured to the puddle currently forming between Drifts thighs. Drifts plates flared in anger, and his thighs snapped closed as Wing made a hasty exit.

 

* * *

 

Drift stood outside his berthroom door and willed it to weld shut. It was late and Wing was no doubt already inside. They had shared a berthroom from the start although it hadn't been a problem before. Wing may be an insufferable aft, but he could be surprisingly civil when in a shared space. After all, Wings’ stuff was in there too and Drift was not afraid to act childish and break his junk.

But that was before this morning’s incident. Before Drift had been humiliated and left hot and bothered on the training room floor. Before he had gotten himself off with nothing more than his fingers and the ghost of Wings voice in his audials.

Drift clenched his servos so tightly the metal started to discolor. This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t be afraid to go into his own berthroom, although afraid wasn’t the right word.

Drift couldn’t deny his interest. That alone mortified him. He was never the kind of mech for casual interface. He either didn’t have time or didn’t have the desire, but his heat was making his morals fly out the airlock.

Taking a deep vent, he steeled himself and entered the code on the door for it to open. He resisted the urge to creep and simply took a quick look around his room. Everything was in place, and there was an unmoving lump in the berth. True to his schedule, Wing was already recharging.

The tension left Drifts frame and he rubbed his tired optics. Wing was offline and harmless. He felt foolish for worrying so much. What had he been expecting? For Wing to jump him the moment he walked through the door?

He kept his steps careful and slipped into the soft berth. The smooth tarp felt wonderful on his aching abdomen, and he buried his nose into his pillow. His own smell hit his receptors and he had to wonder what he smelt like to Wing. Surely the heat making his cables swell was also making his pheromones irresistible. He had called Wing out on being easy for interface but maybe the mech had more self control than Drift though.

Beside him the lump hummed and two purple optics cracked open in the dark, “What took you?”

Drift would never say it aloud but Wing was kinda cute when he was sleepy.

“Had to eat,” he lied simply and huddled under the tarp. It was warm from Wings body heat and for a moment Drift could ignore the constant tingling of his interface array and just relax.

Drift rolled so his back faced his companion and got comfortable. Wing didn’t say anything else, so Drift assumed the mech had fallen back into recharge.

It seemed that wasn’t the case when he felt the ghosting of servos across his flank. His sleepy processor was suddenly very awake.

“Hmmm still suffering,” Wing mumbled as he traced lazy shapes. “And still too stubborn to let me help.”

Drift smacked Wings servos away and growled, “I didn’t ask because I don’t need it. Let me recharge.”

Wing didn’t relent, and instead moved his body closer so his chassis pressed right up to Drifts back. His plating shrunk close to his protoform as his unease grew.

Wings arms wrapped around him and his lips found their way to Drifts finials. They mouthed and nipped and drew a groan from Drift.

“Wing…knock it off,” he demanded again but didn’t resist when those evil servos found their way to his panel. Unlike before, when they had just fleetingly teased, they pressed firmly enough to make Drifts hips buck.

“Come on,” Wing cooed and groped the rapidly heating panel. “You want it. You don’t care who it comes from because you’re just so _hot_ aren’t you?”

The dirty words went right to Drifts array and his panel snapped open without his consent. The bare metal of Wings hand finally came into direct contact with his heated valve and he whined at the stimulation. It was embarrassing how quickly he had become lubricated but thankfully Wing didn’t comment.

Drift hadn't given any consent, but his silence was all the permission Wing needed to slip his servos deep into Drifts willing valve. Nodes fired off for the first time in stellar cycles, and his calipers cycled down on the invading digits in a vain attempt to drag them further in.

“Mm I can feel you squeezing my servos. How long have you been so hungry? Your panel opened for me so readily like a perfectly trained buy-mech.”

Drift growled but even to his own audials it sounded husky, “I’m no buy-mech and it’s not you that’s making me this way. It’s the heat and nothing more so stop getting a big head.”

The shift in the air was so sudden that it made Drifts processor reel. Wings free hand came to the back of Drifts helm and shoved him hard into his pillow while the servos in his valve hooked and _pulled_ in a way that had him whining.

“ **What** did I tell you about the name calling hm?” Wing hissed and held fast as Drift tried to struggle. Having his vision obscured and having Wing looming over him was somehow more frightening than having Wings servos in his valve.

Wing jerked his servos away, leaving Drifts helm free but his valve terribly empty, and flipped Drift onto his back. The look in Wings optics was wild and dangerous and he palmed at Drifts spike housing.

“Open up for me Drift. Your valve is lovely but I want your spike for a moment,” he asked so delicately and Drift, against his better judgment, obeyed.

His spike sprang free the moment he opened the housing. It throbbed and prefluid dribbled out of the head in a continuous drip. Wing seemed to regard it for a moment. Whatever was going on in that twisted processor, Drift didn’t know, but being under such intense scrutiny made him uncomfortable.

Drift opened his mouth to ask, and then promptly snapped it shut as Wing started to pump him with a too firm grip. His metal pulled uncomfortably but the pressure of Wings servos felt amazing.

“Hmmm this is hard too. Which one should I play with first?” Wing mused aloud and Drift scoffed.

“What makes you think you need to ‘play’ with either? If you want to get me of just do it and be done with it,” Drift hissed and writhed as Wing twisted his grip.

“Oh how cute,” Wing hissed and tightened his grip enough to make Drift flinch, “Do you honestly think I’m doing this only for your benefit? Oh Sweetspark I’m not that chivalrous. I’m going to get you off all right, but we’re going to do it on my terms. Complain too much and I just might punish you.”

The pain in his spike was becoming too much to bear, and Drift yelped when Wing gave it a jerk.

“Gah! Yes, yes fine! Just let go!” He gasped and exvented with relief when Wing did as he wished.

“Now that we understand each other,” Wing said sweetly and Drift felt the mech shift. He sat up to watch Wing get low and give the tip of his abused spike a kiss. “Let us have some fun hm?”

Wings tongue licked up the side of his spike so slowly it felt like a trail of fire was crawling up his plating. Since when had Wings mouth been so hot? Drift realized he had nothing to do with his hands and started playing with the padding of the berth as Wing started to suckle on the head. It was strange being in this position. Not because there was a mouth on his spike—oh no he has had this happen before—but because of who was giving it to him.

A gasp found its way out of his intakes as Wing boldly took the first third of his spike into the wet heat of his mouth. His glossa made short swirls on the sensitive underside, and Drift quickly found himself being lost in the sensation. Was it because he was in heat that Wing was doing this? The other mech had never really seemed interested in him sexually before this other than the occasional sexually harassing comment, but the way he was going to town on his spike made Wings enthusiasm clear.

Drift palmed at the bedding and bit his lower lip. Wing sucked and bobbed his head all while stroking the rest of his spike with his tight servos, and the duo stimulation was gathering charge too quickly. It crackled off his frame, and Drift gave a soft yell as he overloaded embarrassingly quickly.

Wing pulled away and spat the transfluid into his palm before giving Drift a knowing smirk. He looked so smug in that moment that Drift was tempted to smack him upside the helm.

“That was fas—“

“Don’t you even finish that sentence,” Drift bared his teeth and Wing simply laughed.

“Hm feel better?” Wing asked and cocked his helm to the side.

Well yes actually. The edge was taken off his spike at least, although his valve still tingled with arousal. It was humiliating how quickly he overloaded, but at least he was relaxed enough to get some recharge. That is, if Wing would let him.

“Are we done?” Drift asked but he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Instead of answering, Wing straddled Drifts thick thighs and opened his own panel. Drift watched and felt his valve tightened as Wing lewdly spread Drifts transfluid over his own array. Drift was disturbed by how hot that made him, and his spike twitched with interest when Wing lined it up with his valve. He wanted to protest, to tell Wing to frag off, but he said nothing as Wing lowered himself.

It was hot and almost too tight. Wing was not sealed by any means, but the lack of prep made for a tight fit that had drifts processor reeling. Wing seated himself fully onto Drifts rapidly pressurizing spike and held onto Drifts chest armor as he started to bounce.

A moan worked outs way out of Drifts chassis as Wing essentially used him for his own pleasure. Wing had no regard for what Drift wanted—although at this point Drift didn’t even know what he wanted—and set the pace as he saw fit.

“Oh, look at you,” Wing moaned out and licked his lips like a hungry prowler, “Under me so willingly.”

His hips sped up and the resounding clank of their hips sounded loud in Drifts audials.

“Such a good mech, such a good pet, laying there while I take what’s mine. I bet I could drag you around by your spike and you'd enjoy it. You'd _revel_ in it wouldn’t you? Just waiting for the time when I allow you to feel pleasure.”

Drift ground his denta and his cheeks burned with shame, “Shut up! It’s the damn heat Wing. Y-Your valve isn’t that great.”

The servos that held delicately onto his armor suddenly turned harsh and dug sharp claws into the sensitive protoform underneath, making Drift hips buck at the sudden melding of pleasure and pain.

“How rude!” Wings optics widened but his smile, and his pace, did not falter. “You’re getting so wet for me and you know it,” he purred as he cycled his valve tightly. “I can suck and ride this spike all day but we both know it’s only a temporary relief. It’s your valve that aches, yearning to be filled and sated. Just a little transfluid and your heat would dissipate.”

Drift cursed, closed his optics tight, and tried not to think about Wings words. He knew they were right. Even now fluids were rolling out of his valve at an alarming rate. The pleasure he was receiving from his spike cycled through his body but stopped at his valve. It was like his body was trying to drive him mad. Trying to make him bed for Wing to frag him into the berth—a proposition that was becoming increasingly appealing.

But he wouldn’t give Wing the satisfaction. Letting him get this far was already a mistake.

Wings claws let up but his hips didn’t. He rode him hard and hungrily, his valve tightening on his way out and eagerly sucking him back in. Despite his earlier declaration, Wings valve felt amazing. His spike had already pressurized fully again and another charge was beginning to build. This time though the current went through him and into Wing and back, making a feedback loop that was quickly bringing him to another overload.

The effect was not lost on Wing, and the stoic mech seemed to finally succumb to the feeling and he began moaning soft obscenities as his rhythm began to falter.

Drift overloaded first. It hit him hard enough to knock his optics offline and his systems forced a reboot. Wing didn’t relent, even as his valve filled with Drifts transfluid, and Drift quickly became oversensitive as Wing chased his own overload.

When he finally came Wing arched so prettily that, for a moment, Drift almost didn’t hate himself for interfacing with him.

Almost.

Wing got off and his spike slipped free along with copious amounts of their combined fluids. Wing seemed so content he may start purring. Drift felt no such bliss and resisted the urge to claw his own plating off. His valve burned and throbbed in time with his spark beat and even the smallest of movements of his legs made his hips twitch.

Above him, Wing chuckled and said, “See? Oh I love a mech in heat. They always smell so sweet when they’re distressed.”

Wings servos ghosted over his hypersensitive node making Drifts hips buck involuntarily. The touch was so light it just made the throbbing worse.

“Slaggit Wing,” Drift hissed and flared his plating in an attempt to cool his frame.

“Ready for me to frag you yet?” Wing whispered and suddenly gave Drifts node a pinch, making him squeal. “Because you seem ready to me.”

Drift had no doubt that a puddle had formed on the berth between his legs and the rough treatment of his node only added to the mess. He tried to shove the mechs hands away but Wing just brushed off his attempts and _twisted_ his node just enough to bring sparks to his optics. His peds curled and his vocalizer glitched.

“Do you,” another twist, “want me to frag you?” Wing asked with a hellish smile that made Drifts energon run cold but made his body run hot.

“Yes! Just s-stop doing that!” He whined as he tried to shy away from the rough attention. It seemed, though, that a yes was all Wing wanted and released Drifts poor node.

“Good!” He chirped and surprised Drift by climbing further up him and holding Drifts helm down—thankfully face up this time. “But before we get started I need a bit of tending to. You see, you left an awful mess in my valve.”

Drifts optics widened as Wing straddled his face. His valve was so close to Drifts mouth that he could feel the heat and moisture radiating off of it, and a drip of his own fluids fell onto his cheek.

When Drift made a noise of protest, Wing tightened his grip to hold Drift still and hummed, “Oh don’t fret, Sweetspark. Just be a good pet and clean me up and I’ll frag you into oblivion.”

Drift didn’t really get a say in the matter because Wing sat on his lips anyway. The first thing that assaulted him was the heavy smell of ozone and musk. The second was the taste of their combined fluids that reminded him of a mixture of jet fuel and waste fluids. Surprisingly it made his tanks flop with arousal rather than disgust.

Wing ground down lightly, as if reminding him of his task, and he figured he’d wasted enough time trying to raise Wings ire, and despite his submissive position the fact that he had a lot of control here was not lost to him. He opened his mouth wide and started to clean the outside of Wings valve with long swipes of his glossa and purposely scraped his teeth against the puffy outer lips.

Wing seemed pleased with his efforts because he started making little hums of pleasure and ground his array down onto Drifts face until his nose was pressed firmly into Wings glowing node. Somewhere drift felt a swell of pride and when he slipped his glossa into Wings stretched entrance it became increasingly obvious that this wasn’t about cleaning anymore. Wing was riding his face and quickly building a charge off of it while Drift was forced to lay there and dish out the pleasure while forgoing his own—again.

Wing held Drifts helm tight and groaned hotly as another smaller overload hit him. Drift felt the spark dance across his lips and he opened his mouth wide as Wings contacting valve forced more fluids to escape.

When he got off Drift felt dizzy, almost intoxicated, from the smell and heavy flavor on his glossa, and the heat roiling off his frame made his minor systems glitch.

“ _Good job_ ,” Wing purred, sated, and gave Drifts thigh a firm slap that snapped him back into reality.

Wing made a rotating gesture with his servo and Drift groaned. Of course Wing would want him face down like some common frag. No need to make this intimate anyways. Drift rolled over onto his belly and lifted his aft into the air. Degrading as the position was, at least he wouldn’t have to look at Wings grinning face anymore.

“Oh this is such a good look for you Drift,” Wing said as he admired his pert aft and swollen valve, the latter of which he gave a sharp spank that made Drifts whole body jerk.

That stung worse than insecticon venom but it only seemed to add to his charge. Drift closed his optics and focused on the sound of his own roaring fans as Wing positioned himself behind him. The throbbing in his valve slowed, as if anticipating relief, and his lips quivered when he felt the tip of Wings spike lightly prod his entrance.

Instead of pushing in right away like Drift expected him to, Wing had the gall to tease him even further. He would add the barest amount of pressure, then pull back and circle the rim of his valve and repeat.

By the fifth time Drift was seeing phantom code dance across his vision and he barked, “Will you frag me already?!”

“What’s the magic word?” Wing asked without skipping a beat and Drift let out a broken sob of frustration.

“Please? Slaggit for the love of Primus please frag me!”

He heard Wing chuckle, then Wing finally pushed inside him and it was glorious. Drift moaned—he couldn’t do anything else—as Wing entered like an unending force until their hips were fully flush. Drift had been more desperate than he though because on the first thrust his valve clenched so hungrily, and it just felt so good that a slew of obscenities fell from his lips.

“Oh slag…Wing! F-Frag,” he whined and buried his face into his pillow to brace himself as Wing started a brutal pace.

His body jerked as Wing made true to his promise. Wing didn’t treat him delicately nor did he cover up what this was. It was an honest to goodness frag with no strings attached and Drift loved every click of it. His valve started to burn with the stretch but the overflow of lubrication made Wings spike rub all of his nodes in perfect unison. The heat made him sensitive but it was Wings skill that quickly had Drift drooling.

“You like that don’t you? Being at the end of my spike,” Wing gasped as he grabbed Drifts thighs to spread him wider.

“Yes! Oh primus yes!” Drifts optics shorted out as he frantically bucked backwards in an attempt to bring Wing deeper, bring him in harder, and it ruined their rhythm but Drift didn’t care.

Wing threw his head back and laughed, “Yes! Oh Drift look at you. So wanton for my spike you can’t even stand it! Tell me you want it. Tell me!”

Wing added more power to his thrusts and Drift swore he heard some part of the berth snap. His hips ached, Wings servos were digging painfully into his thighs, and his right audial had shorted out from the surge of electricity but he felt giddy as he neared his overload.

“I want it, frag Wing I want it!” Drift gasped and yelled in pain as Wing dug his claws into Drifts thigh and his lower back and scraped. Heat bloomed where his claws raked and Drift knew that energon had welled up. He could feel it, and the smell of hot metallic energon that met his nose fueled something in both of them that Drift couldn’t explain.

Drift had never overloaded so hard in his life. Not even during his past heats had he hit his peak that hard. He didn’t know of he yelled, he didn’t know what Wing was saying, all he knew was that he was finally coming and that the resulting discharge of energy almost knocked him into stasis.

Wing rode through Drifts overload and fell into his own, finally filling Drifts valve with the transfluid it so desperately needed. His hips snapped and he pressed as far into Drift as his body would allow, then fell forward to brace himself on the wall above Drifts helm.

One would think that Drift had just ran crossplanet by the way his fans were screaming at him, although Wing was in the same state Drift noted somewhere smugly. It seemed Wing was content to stay buried in his valve and Drift didn’t have the willpower to complain as he came down. He even allowed soft kisses to his finials but drew the line when Wing gave a minor thrust.

Drift growled and kicked Wing off him. His body missed the contact but he had more than enough Wing for one day. Wing took it in stride and managed a tired chuckle before settling down next to him. With Drifts valve finally sated, he could feel the heat slowly ebbing and he thanked Primus for his good fortune. It looked like this one frag was all it took, which meant he wouldn’t have to stomach a repeat.

“Why can’t you say such nice things to me all the time?” Wing asked with fake innocence.

Drift was mortified by what had come from his vocalizer, but he hastily blamed it on the heat and said, “Shut up Wing. I still hate you.”

“Meanie,” Wing pouted but looked ultimately smug as he stretched out across his side of the berth.

Now that his overload had passed and his processor was clear, Drift realized how **sore** he was all over. The cuts burned, his valve felt like a combiner went to town on it, and he suddenly realized that a pain on his left shoulder felt suspiciously like a bite mark.

“I’m going to kill you when I wake up,” he hissed and Wing hummed in agreement.

“Well even if you kill me at least you’ll be a challenge again. It was so boring not having a decent sparring partner,” Wing yawned and snuggled under the tarp as he slipped into recharge.

Stupid fragger was going to die for humiliating him then taking his threats so lightly.

Ugh but first he needed a wash. _Badly_.

…Maybe it could wait until morning.

Then he’d kill him.


End file.
